


Dappled Sunlight

by Reiya_Wakayama



Series: Two Worlds Series [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mild Description Of Injury, Mild Language, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ostara has arrived and the traditional hunt for the King Stag is under way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dappled Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came about after watching James Cameron’s Avatar twice in one week…yeah, I really liked the movie, and I even have the soundtrack which rocks by the way. It’s not based off the plot of Avatar, but it made me want to see civilization meeting the wild side of life Merlin style. So here’s my version. Enjoy.
> 
> This will have 8 parts so be patient as I finish up this series slowly.

Sunlight flashed momentarily as they glided through the trees, revealing hidden pockets of dew it had yet to evaporate. Wind whistled through the leaves of the trees, herding clouds across the sky, scattering shadows throughout the forest. Birds sang all around, relishing in the soft spring morning as new life grew all around them.

A twig snapped under one of their heavy boots and was soon lost in the shrouding silence of the trees. One looked back, shooting a glare in the noise maker’s direction, message clear. Silence was needed if they were to succeed today.

It was Ostara, a day of celebration for the return of the sun and life to the frozen world. Already the women were out in the glades and meadows, collecting wildflowers and early berries and fruit.

On the other hand, they, a selected group of men, had been chosen to lead the Spring Hunt. Every spring, a group was chosen to hunt for Him, the King Stag, the king of the forest. And though none had ever felled the great creature, tradition dictated they still hunt it.

Prince Arthur of Camelot held up a hand, stilling those behind him as he listened to the sounds ahead of them. He could hear running water, the liquid warbling softly as it flowed through the trees.

Gesturing with his hands, he communicated silently, nods of understanding all around. They had picked up on the King Stag’s trail a few miles back, following it on foot deep into the forest where none but a few of the more daring hunters ventured.

Creeping forward, he slid silently behind a tree and leaned around, peering through the foliage surrounding the tree’s trunk. A small creek flowed through the clearing. Water had collected in a dip in the ground, pooling into a larger body of water before it streamed away on the other side of the glade.

And there, standing proudly, nobly, stood the King Stag, fur a rippling rusted red, antlers branching so many times, it took him a few seconds to count them all. They alone would have weighed greatly, and yet the muscles rippling under the fur as he bent to drink showed he bore it easily.

Easing sideways, he drew his bow off of his back. He had practiced for months with the long bow, perfecting his technique and skills until he could shoot blindfolded with it and not miss. He had had to, for only was the long bow allowed in the hunt. No other weapon could be used to fell such a noble creature except one created from the earth itself.

Pulling a goose fletched arrow from his quiver, he set it and aimed, drawing back strong and steadily, aim true. The Stag’s head jerked up from the water, startled as something moved through the bush nearby. Arthur released some of the tension on the string, waiting and watching to see what was coming.

At first, he saw nothing but shadow in the underbrush. Then a flash of white as sunlight hit whatever it was that moved through the leaves and branches. He just stared in amazement as slowly, and silently as cat, another person eased out of the brush, eyes solely on the Stag.

Pale as the winter sun, the boy, no man for he looked to be in his early twenties, crouched by the water, watching the Stag with solemn eyes. Dark pigment twisted along pale flesh, creating a sort of dappled look that had let him blend so easily among the trees.

There was more rustling among the trees and then three children fell out of the bush, looking up with guilty eyes at the man. Arthur looked back, but couldn’t see his face with his back turned to him. He must have shown something to forgive them for they smiled tentatively back at him.

He held up one long pale finger to his lips, shushing them to silence before pointing to the Stag. The whole time, the Stag just stood there, watching with solemn eyes as the four emerged from the trees. As the man turned back, the Stag pawed at the earth, sending up clods of dirt.

The three children jumped in surprised, but the man just smiled. Standing from his crouched position, he walked slowly and surely towards the Stag, and held out a hand in greeting. The russet beast took a step forward until he brushed the man’s palm with his head, lipping at it and snorting out a gust of air as he pulled back and shook his head.

He turned back to the three children who had stood as well; beckoning them, voice lilting as he spoke in some strange language. Two were brunettes, like the man, but the third, a girl, had hair somewhere between red and blonde, the long locks braded and strung with beads and feathers. Slowly, they stepped forward, edging closer.

As they got within reaching distance, the Stag leaned down, looking them in the faces. They stared back in wide-eyed wonder. The girl, the bravest of the three, reached out a shaky hand to touch his coat tentatively. The other two soon followed, petting the great beast gently.

A twig snapped to his right and he jerked around, turning to look to see who had made the noise. One of his men, Valiant, had his bow drawn, standing and aiming at the Stag. For a second time seemed to slow as he watched the bow release, its arrow flying straight and true.

He turned and watched it arch through the air towards the beast. It never made it as instead it sunk into pale flesh, embedding itself deeply. Time seemed to snap back into place, sound exploding all around them.

The children screamed out, afraid. Arthur jumped up and ran towards Valiant. “What the hell were you thinking? There are children out there!” He snatched the bow from his hand as he went to fire a second shot after his failed first one.

Arthur turned to look back into the glade. The Stag was gone, running back into the trees to disappear into the shadows. The four people still stood in the glade, watching them. The children huddled behind the man, fear plain on their faces.

He turned to look at the man. His face was pinched in pain, blood seeping through his fingers where they applied pressure around the arrow shaft that was stuck fast in his shoulder. Even then, he still was on guard, a stone knife, which had appeared as if out of thin air, was clutched tightly in his shaking hand, and held up between him and Arthur’s group.

His voice rang out, harsh and sharp. The children just stared up at him, still too afraid to move. He repeated the word again, voice clipped. Slowly, they backed away, eyes on the hunters, never looking away until they had faded back into the shadows of the underbrush.

When he was sure they were gone, he seemed to relax some, though still on his guard. Watching them, he slowly backed up, feeling his way, backwards with his feet so as not to be tripped up. As he reached the tree line, he looked straight at Arthur, eyes clear of pain momentarily. Then they flashed gold, as if struck by sunlight, except that his face was in the shadow of the trees.

The stream exploded, water flying everywhere, blinding them temporarily, and when he looked back, the man was gone, fading into the trees as easily as he had coming out unseen. Arthur stood there for a few minutes, just staring at the place where they had stood, the only evidence of their presence was the Stag’s and the other’s foot prints, and a few drops of blood that had landed on the ground.

He turned back to his men. “Come, the hunt is over. We have lost the Stag.” The others complied, seeing the anger boiling just under their prince’s expressionless face. He threw Valiant’s bow back at him and walked away, ignoring them as they made the long trek, empty handed, back to Camelot.

**End. ******


End file.
